


Aftermath

by paranoid_fridge



Series: Explicit Bagginshield Oneshots [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Light Bondage, M/M, guest appearances by the rest of the company, light Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:11:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Bilbo had been lovers. What had begun on the quest had grown seriously twisted under the onset of goldsickness and then had completely fallen apart. Now that the battle is won and Thorin on Erebor's throne, sane and healthy, he is forced to remember when a young, ambitious member of his guard drags a tied up hobbit before him, declaring the traitor found. </p>
<p>Thorin must face the past and Bilbo in order to make amends. And finds out that some things are not as he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

“Your majesty, we caught him before he could escape,” a youthful, brown-haired member of Erebor’s recently established guard announces proudly and tosses a tied-up hobbit before the throne, “The traitor.”

A confident smile stretches over the guard’s face as an abyss opens up underneath Dizziness clouds his vision momentarily – he’d thought Bilbo had left before battle, had wished the hobbit well on his way back to his home. Had thought about sending an apology –

But Bilbo had never gotten away. There is fresh blood drying on his temple, but the scar on his forehead is older. Dark scabs cover the place where two toes should be, and Thorin cannot stop the realization that Bilbo was in battle and his stomach turns. The rumors of an invisible fighter must have been true. He should not have dismissed them so easily.

Bilbo’s eyes find his and all he sees is weariness and fear in those green eyes. Even in the depth of his madness he recalls the spark within them; a light to him. Now, his deeds have wrought their price and Thorin is not the one to pay it. Guilt surges upward in his chest, threatening to devour him.

The entire court is watching him expectantly. Cold sweat covers his neck.

With Bilbo gone he had never needed to clarify what happened. Both his madness and Bilbo’s betrayal had slide from public conscious quietly – or so Thorin had hoped. But, as he sees now, his subjects have remembered and are now waiting for justice to be extracted.

Justice that would be nothing but another act of violence against one they should honor as a hero. He needs to speak – he has already stared in silence at the crumpled form at his feet for too long.

Thorin can feel Dwalin radiating tension. He had been fond of their burglar – he will not forgive this. It is lucky, Thorin thinks, that his nephews have accompanied Balin today. They would not stand here and hesitate as he does, while fresh blood drips from a hidden wound on Bilbo’s body to the floor. A coarse rope wraps around the hobbit’s torso, binding his arms to his side and his hands behind his back. A noose is looped tightly around his throat and shadows another set of bruises. 

Thorin remembers that fluttering pulse underneath his fingers. The rush of power as he squeezed , those fluttering, small hands. Now only horror fills his mind at the thought.

“Take, Dwalin, take him to Oin,” he manages to grind out and pushes himself up. Dwalin gives a minuscule nod before leaving his place on Thorin’s left. Without any word he scoops their erstwhile burglar into his arms.

“We thank you for your services,” Thorin tells the guard and watches Dwalin disappear with Bilbo into a side corridor, “It was done in good faith. But hear me, new and old residents of Erebor, for I would have this known for once and all.”

His greatest shame and he cannot speak of it. “There once was another deed done in good faith,” Thorin announces to the court, “A theft committed to stop a war. The thief did not know what he stole. Nor could you have known about this misunderstanding between myself and the burglar.”

He forces himself to smile upon the guard, a young dwarf whose hope for a reward now fades from his face. It is not his fault, Thorin has to tell himself, even as the rust-colored stains on the ground turn his stomach and he wishes to reach for his sword.

Not that young dwarf's fault.

And it weren't his hands either that closed around Bilbo's throat. Weren't his fingers that slipped underneath loosely fitting clothes, the sought soft skin and access to intimate place that only reluctantly was given.

Now that the golden haze distorting his vision is gone, the memories return with vengeance. As long as he had deemed Bilbo on his way home he had had no need to confront them, could banish them to the small hours of the night. But with Bilbo’s wraith-like figure burned onto the back of his eyelids, the unreadable expression on that formerly bright and cheerful face his nightmares have caught up with him.

The rest of court passes in a haze. Thorin nods, grunts and speaks right when he has to, but the moment the doors of the great hall shut he can no longer remember whom he talked to. Dwalin did not return, nor did any other member of the company come by.

Does Bilbo hate him after all? How could he not?

***

_Gold shifts under Thorin's feet as he takes another step forward. Bilbo's back is pressed against the marble pillar, his head tilted back. Thorin's groin throbs at the exposed neckline and the confusion flickering in their burglar's eyes._

_"Thorin?" Bilbo asks and his voice wavers._

_Thorin reaches up, feels the soft skin of Bilbo’s cheek against the calluses of his palm and follows the fragile bone structure up into those golden curls. Their shine is almost as beautiful as the gold's._

_Bilbo waits breathlessly, and Thorin doesn't want to disappoint. He jerks on the hobbits hair, forcing him up on his toes and catches the gasp with his own mouth. The others are far, asleep, and yet sounds in the treasury carry._

_Bilbo's hands find his coat and burry themselves into the fur, tugging helplessly as Thorin deepens the kiss. Even after all their trials their burglar's lips are soft and he smells of earth and wood. Thorin growls into the kiss and wraps his other arm around Bilbo's waist, tugging him away from the pillar and down to the ground._

_They break for air, and Thorin finds Bilbo’s face enticingly flushed. One of his hands finds its way underneath Bilbo’s coat and shirt, greedily tracing the smooth skin. Bilbo gasps – probably because Thorin’s fingers are cold – but hungrily buries his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck, small teeth coming to nibble at the soft flesh there._

_Thorin can’t stop the growl that falls from his lips, nor can he stop his fist from tightening in Bilbo’s hair until the hobbit whines in pain. Reluctantly Thorin releases the golden strands and instead pushes Bilbo over backward until the hobbit comes to rest on top of the treasure, one hand buried in Thorin’s hair, the other flung out next to his head._

_“It’s been too long,” Bilbo mumbles when Thorin leans down for another kiss. In his mind, the King agrees, though another voice reminds him that he is wasting time. He should be looking for the Arkenstone, not wooing the burglar._

_And yet Bilbo spread out atop the treasure is too beautiful, too tempting to be ignored._

_Thorin’s fingers make short work of the buttons of Bilbo’s waistcoat and shirt. The first time he had to open them, his fingers failed and Bilbo laughed at him – now he has the burglar stripped within moments, the clothes bunched up underneath his back._

_Bilbo’s hands curl in his hair, tugging and pulling and Thorin growls. He catches Bilbo’s wrists and pulls them together – he can easily hold both of them in one hand, no matter how much Bilbo tugs against the hold. The bones under his fingers are fragile; he could snap them if he pressed but a little harder. His grip tightens and Bilbo whines, bucking up and makes Thorin’s groin tingle._

_His cock has grown half-hard the moment they started kissing but only now starts throbbing with need. Impatiently he fumbles through Bilbo’s clothes until he finds the discarded belt. He loops it several times around Bilbo’s wrists and pulls it tight. The hobbit’s eyes widen, a flash of something that might be real fear within them and Thorin’s groin burns so hot he might just spill then and there. Forcing his own breathing to calm down, Thorin gently presses Bilbo’s bound hands down into the_ _gold above his head. Picks up a few coins and gemstones and splatters them over the hobbit’s body. Bilbo flinches when a thick ruby hits his ribcage and a sapphire finds its home among the mess of Bilbo’s curls._

_One white diamond Thorin retains, dragging it playfully down Bilbo's chest. Red lines linger in its wake and Bilbo jumps and trembles. The noises that fall from his lips linger somewhere between pleasure and pain, and Thorin can’t remember ever having felt like this before. It’s like discovering a new world – he had known he enjoyed being in control, but he had never had a lover spread out before him quite like this._

_Bilbo’s cock tells Thorin that the hobbit is just as excited._

_“Do you like this?” Thorin asks, resting his hand tantalizingly just above Bilbo’s hipbone. A whine is his answer and he feels a grin spreading over his face._

_“Do you?” he repeats._

_“Yes, bother it, Thorin, yes!” Bilbo yells abruptly, “Touch me, you tease!” He demonstratively bucks up against Thorin and scatters the coins Thorin draped decoratively over his chest. A part of his desires retaliation. Fantasizes about tying Bilbo up for good and teasing him until he begged._

_But the Arkenstone needs to be found._

_So Thorin discards the fantasy and his hand wanders past Bilbo’s cock, sliding into the cleft until they find the tightly closed entrance. Without waiting for anything, he forces a finger inside._

_Bilbo stiffens violently._

_“Didn’t you want me to touch you?” Thorin asks, watching as Bilbo struggles to breathe. Sweat beads the hobbit’s forehead, and when he finally manages a soft whine, Thorin crooks his finger._

_A choked gasp is his response and his own cock throbs almost painfully. No longer able to ignore it Thorin undoes the laces of his trousers with his other hand and slips it beneath the waistband. The touch is bliss and damnation simultaneously – his body screams for release, but he must wait._

_At least a little longer. But not too long, a dark voice in his head whispers, not too long – the burglar seems to like a rougher touch. He might not mind a bit less preparation, then._

_Thorin begins to work his finger in earnest, pushing and pulling and moving it, until he manages to squeeze in a second finger. Bilbo gasps and whines, his body twitching nearly uncontrollably. Thorin envision tying him down until he’s helpless to do anything but accept Thorin’s touch. No bucking up, no twisting away._

_“Thorin,” Bilbo whines and breaks the vision._

_Precum glints on the top of Bilbo’s cock and Thorin feels just as close. The pressure against his fingers has lessened. Not enough, perhaps – he is large and Bilbo is small in comparison and he knows it’s a tight fit, but it will have to do._

_The Arkenstone awaits. And Bilbo’s face twists so nicely._

_So he nudges Bilbo’s legs further apart and pulls down his own pants. His member springs out eagerly, and Thorin impatiently lines up. Pushes forward._

_And the world suddenly grows white._

_The pressure is incredible. He can feel Bilbo’s body parting around his cock, opening underneath the force. Stars cloud his vision and for a moment he feels nothing except the unbelievable sensation of a warm body enveloping his – the world vanishes._

_He spills before he’s even entirely inside._

_It hits him with such a force his arms give out and he crumbles atop the hobbit, heavy fur coats swallowing them both. He cannot remember ever having felt like this, Thorin thinks. Never before has it been quite like this._

_When his vision clears he grows aware of the body underneath him struggling. With trembling arms he pushes himself up, noting both Bilbo’s red face and the residue of the burglar’s own climax coating both Bilbo’s stomach and Thorin’s clothes._

_He ignores the tear tracks on Bilbo’s face._

***

The memories haunt Thorin as he marches from the audience hall toward the healer’s chambers. Even the nobles keep out of his way – his desolate state of mind must show on his face. When the doors open, he finds the company assembled.

And hostile.

“Why didn’t you rescind the judgment?” Kili starts, “Why didn’t you think to do that? Didn’t you think somebody wouldn’t –“

“Kili,” his brother interrupts sharply, but Thorin sees that he, too, is pale.

“Lads,” Balin says and clears his throat, “Don’t be too harsh. We did not think about official clarifying anything either. Every one of us could have made the suggestion.”

Kili looks chastised and Thorin sighs. “I have clarified it just now,” he tells them, “It is too late now, I understand. Oin, how is he?”

His chest aches already, recalling the bloodstains on the floor.

Oin presses his lips together. “The good news – there are no major injuries and he will recover completely. However, he is missing two toes and they will not grow back. Luckily that injury is not infected.”

An invisible weight lifts from Thorin’s chest. But dread remains coiled in his stomach, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“One arm was dislocated and he has a badly sprained ankle. Two ribs on his right are at least cracked and he has an ugly bump on his head. The rest are minor abrasions – those will heal in time. Nothing is infected, and he’s asleep for now,” Oin continues, “The vigor of his captors turned out a blessing in disguise – they made sure none of the injuries grew infected. Though they didn’t quite realize how much food hobbits need; our burglar dropped more weight than he should have.”

They’ll be able to fix that, Thorin thinks. A part of him is in disbelief – afraid of what is still to come, what injuries Oin has not yet named. 

“Anything else?” he asks.

Oin shakes his head. “That’s it. Barring any complications, our burglar will make a full recovery.”

Kili sighs in relief, and Ori directs a tentative smile Oin’s way. “That’s good to hear.”

“Very good,” Balin agrees and Thorin cannot voice the knot that still sits uncomfortably in his stomach. The strings between Bilbo and him have become so desperately tangled he doesn’t know whether they will ever come undone.

Even if Bilbo recovers, he may hate Thorin. For his role in being abducted and injured. For those short, heated encounters in Laketown that ended in desperate, dubious moments of intimacy shared in Erebor’s treasury. 

Hating him, Thorin thinks, would be well within Bilbo’s rights.

***

"Thorin," somebody calls, "Thorin."

He's warm, but his back aches in return when he straightens and finds himself in the armchair next to Bilbo's bed. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he reminds himself of having promised Oin to watch over their burglar, of taking several official reports that needed reading along – sometime during that he must have dropped off.

“Thorin.”

The lamps have burned low, but the hobbit is awake and gazing at Thorin with a frown on his face.

"Thorin, what am I doing here?" The hobbit inquires and Thorin's heart clenches to see unease pass through Bilbo's eyes. It's not surprising if he can't recall what happened, though Oin needs to be informed. Hopefully it will pass.

"I'm sorry," Thorin blurts out, "One of the guards - they caught you and brought you back to Erebor."

Bilbo grimaces. "I remember. No, I mean why am I here? Or is that just some last mercy?"

Thorin's expression twists in confusion. "What?"

"The last time you told me I was banished from Erebor on the pain of death," Bilbo replies, "And after you told Dwalin to take me away I rather expected to wake up in a dungeon of some sort. If at all."

Ice floods Thorin's veins. Of course Bilbo wasn't there to hear him renounce his judgment. He couldn't have known. The king swallows down the knot in his throat. "I ... Those words were said in madness. I never meant them."

Because even up on the ramparts when his fingers closed around Bilbo's windpipe he found he couldn't do it. Nor drop the hobbit nor crush that fragile pulse underneath his hands.

Bilbo does not appear impressed, though Thorin is glad to see color in his cheeks again. "And you did not think it necessary to tell me?"

Thorin bites down on his lower lip. "We searched for you after battle. Then we received the news you had begun to travel back to the Shire, and I was planning to write you. I thought you probably had enough of dwarves and were glad to be rid of us. I didn't think you'd appreciate a messenger send after you."

Bilbo is silent for a long moment, studying Thorin's face intently. Then, he sighs and the tension flees his still too thin frame. "You fool," he murmurs, "You absolute idiot."

"Yes," Thorin agrees easily, "Had I known somebody would go after you, I would have publicized the announcement. But we, I did not imagine -"

"Neither did I," Bilbo cuts him off drily, "And neither did I know you had recovered. I saw you charge from the mountain - I was up on Ravenhill during the battle - and thought you still mad. I didn't think to stay long enough to find out more than whether you all had survived."

"You should have sought out Bofur or Balin. You know they weren't mad, and they were all heartbroken to find out you'd left," Thorin says.

Bilbo grimaces. "I'm sorry. It was just - I wanted to get away. I'm not proud to say, but battle is not for me. Or hobbits in general."

"Forgive me," Thorin mumbles, bowing his head, "You should have never been out there."

A small hand settles against his cheek and tilts his head up. Thorin finds Bilbo closer, his eyes clear. "I know," Bilbo tells him, "even at the height of your madness you showed me concern. Without your Mithril shirt, I do not know how the battle may have ended for me."

A cold shudder runs down Thorin's spine. For a moment he sees the hobbit lying at his feet again, but this time he is not moving and blood spreads under his body.

"Then for that I will be grateful," Thorin says, "But I fear what else I did to you is unforgivable."

Horror now taints those memories of a soft, pliant body under his hands. How hard he gripped those wrists. How he enjoyed his power - and how little mind he paid Bilbo in the end.

"Thorin," Bilbo's voice draws him back to the present, "Concerning that... Well. You frightened me sometimes. But you never - do not look away, please - you never touched me against my will."

Thorin's soul aches. "And yet you say you were afraid?"

"Of your temper, you foolish dwarf!" Bilbo shouts. Shakes his head and continues in a more sedated tone, "We all were. You were suspicious of everybody and that made us nervous, especially me. You know I had that stupid stone in my pocket all that time. I was terrified you'd find it on accident. But I wasn't afraid of you those other times."

A flush covers his cheeks, while Thorin's mind races to puzzle out Bilbo's words. "But I hurt you," he protest, "I held you down."

Bilbo ducks his head. "... I didn't mind."

"What?" Thorin asks, flabbergasted. Bilbo looks up, now bright red. "I didn't mind, you oaf. I'm not made of sugar, I can stand some rough treatment."

Thorin's heart skips a beat. A flame lightens in his lower body, though he pushes the sensation firmly aside, even as Bilbo leans closer, licking his lips.

"Bilbo," Thorin mutters in protest, turning his head aside.

Bilbo huffs angrily and sits back. "I'm not made from sugar, Thorin."

"Nonetheless, I got you injured," Thorin says and gestures to the bandages wrapped around Bilbo's arms, "This is my fault!"

"You didn't hit me," Bilbo replies fiercely, "And as you said, you couldn't have known somebody would try to take the law in their own hands."

Thorin isn't that sure. He rather thinks he ought to have expected something like this - he remember the sycophants following his grandfather's footsteps, and knows to beware of those seeking to place themselves in the King's good graces.

"Thorin," Bilbo rests a hand on Thorin's knee and the King's gaze is drawn to the bandage wrapped around the slender wrist. "Stop blaming yourself. I don't hold it against you. I don't hold anything against you."

"Not even..." Thorin stammers breathlessly.

Bilbo shakes his head. "I understood what I was doing. And I stand by what I told Gandalf - I'm not afraid of you. Have never been. Though at first I thought you incredibly rude."

He chuckles and Thorin's poor heart spins. Bilbo cannot mean it - not when he almost killed him. "In my madness I - "

"Even in your madness you cared for me," Bilbo interrupts, "you gave me the Mithril shirt. You told me to stay safe. You never did anything to me I did not want you to. No, Thorin, even when you were mad I did not fear you. I only, like all the others, dreaded your temper and what your decisions would bring." 

The hand on his knee slowly trails upward Ina gentle, inviting caress. Thorin catches it, before it can disappear under his tunic.

"I ... My decisions have wrought much grief," he says, and the scrapes on Bilbo's skin are no minor part of those. Before he can move away, Bilbo stretches out his other arm and grips Thorin's shoulder. The position leaves him precariously angled over the bed, and if Thorin moves now, Bilbo will fall.

So caught in place, Thorin gently tightens his grip on Bilbo's wrist. "I did not think so," he says with a sigh, "I have committed many ills in my madness and I expected you to hate me and be glad to leave."

Bilbo chuckles and Thorin can feel the air of his exhale tickle the skin on his face. "That makes two of us. I thought you hated me, Thorin, and was glad to sneak away silently. I did not fear you, but dwarven law and what it might mean should I dare to set a foot back into the mountain. If I had known - I would have returned to your side immediately."

Thorin's breath catches in his throat. Bilbo's eyes find his and there is no denying the honesty or the emotions. "What I told you in Laketown and what I said again and again - I still mean it Thorin. I love you, and nothing in the world will change that."

And as Bilbo stretches his head toward Thorin, the king leans down to cover the remaining distance. Bilbo's lips are soft, though he tastes the faint residue of bitter medicine and though Bilbo tries to deepen the kiss, Thorin eventually breaks it, careful to hold the hobbit steady.

"Your heart is a foolish thing," he whispers, "And I cannot help but be glad for it. I do not deserve your forgiveness."

"But you have my heart even so," Bilbo replies softly, "Foolish thing it may be."

Thorin chuckles and finally allows the warmth of the embrace to flow through him. The guilt remains - it will never fade and Thorin thinks that hopefully it will serve as a reminder for him in the future - but his soul is glad to accept Bilbo's touch and words.

"Oin will murder us," Thorin eventually degrees and begins to disentangle them. "Or just me. He told me to fetch him the moment you woke up."

Bilbo grimaces. "How about you don't tell him I woke up?" This time he allows Thorin to gently settle him back against the pillows and then stretches with a yawn. “I think this is an excellent idea.”

And testament to his injuries, Bilbo closed his eyes before Thorin has figured out an answer.

***

Morning comes and Oin rages at Thorin for not waking him. Both he and Bilbo maintain that the hobbit was only awake for a short moment - Thorin's conscience unhappily, but Bilbo doesn't flinch at all while telling the lie.

After some grumbling Oin declares the hobbit on the mend and able to receive visitors. Fili and Kili storm the room moments later, while Thorin is spirited away by Balin. And whatever Bilbo tells his nephews and the others, his words must work magic. Dwalin remains the only one to growl about punishing Bilbo's captor - and Fili backs him fiercely - but a reminder of potential ramifications from Balin silences those cries.

Thorin is uneasy. Bilbo is healing and that makes forgiveness easy. Even his own actions under the influence of the gold sickness no longer appear to matter. But he cannot help but wonder if things had gone ill. If Bilbo had been seriously injured.

It is the hobbit himself who eases his mind. Almost a fortnight after a was dragged forcibly back to the mountain, Bilbo sits with Thorin in the Kings chamber, late in the evening and their conversation has wandered from the Shire's pipe weed over Erebor's trade plans to those twisted strings between them.

"But nothing that terrible happened," Bilbo says with a shrug, "if it had, things would have been different, certainly. But that is a hypothetical - that did not happen. And I believe what happened we have dealt with. Let's rather focus on where we're going from here instead of what could have been."

Thorin nods, still caught in nightmarish visions of Bilbo dying. He doesn't hear Bilbo get up, only notices when a shadow falls over his face. As he tilts his head up, lips find his own and before he quite knows what is happening, Bilbo is settling himself on Thorin's lap.

The hobbit deepens the kiss, his hands burying themselves in Thorin's hair and fine nails take over his skull. A shudder runs down Thorin's spine and one of his hands sneaks underneath the hem of Bilbo's tunic. The dwarven garment is large on the hobbit and offers ample space for Thorin's hand to explore.

Under his fingers, the skin is smooth, though he knows there are bruises and fine scars. But in a few months those will hopefully have vanished. And the spine Thorin feels clearly will be buried under a layer of flesh once more.

They break for air and Bilbo's face is flushed. He shifts against Thorin's lap and the message is unmistakable.

“We should wait,” Thorin mumbles, leaning his forehead against Bilbo’s. Their breaths mingle, and under his fingers the hobbit feels slight and fragile. Precious.

Bilbo chuckles. “I’ll tell Oin it was my own idea,” he suggests, “But no, Thorin, I have waited long enough. Did you know, when I handed over the stone, all I could think about was that we’d never be this close again and how much I was going to miss it? If I have to wait any longer, I’ll have to start wondering again.”

“Then I will oblige,” Thorin responds and goes in for another kiss.

They lose track of time. Thorin’s hands trace the body of his lover and each patch of skin feels like a new discovery – the last time he touched those places he was mad and Bilbo despairing. War was imminent and the world bleak. This feels like another life.

“You won’t break me,” Bilbo whispers into his ear, and cheekily sets his teeth against the lobe. A shudder runs down Thorin’s spine, driving a spike straight into his groin.

A part of him is reluctant to stop this gentle exploration, wishing to continue in this closeness forever. But his own body desires more, and so does Bilbo. And maybe there is hope for other moments of shared intimacy in the future.

_The End_


End file.
